


The 'Thing With Peas'

by notjustmom



Series: Box of 64 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Parentlock, Post TFP, reflection on thing with peas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 05:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10269269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: The history of the 'thing with peas' for the Box of 64 verse; in my Epiphany verse, it is most definitely a risotto, though in the comments I received on that particular bit, there were many ideas about what it actually was, in this story, the 'thing with peas' just happened to be whatever was on hand in the flat usually.





	

The first time John made it, it was during an interminable lull in cases during the second month of their first round of co-habitation; a Sunday, John recalled later. Sherlock had screeched on his violin, checked his phone one more time, then flung it away with a growl and threw himself on the couch. John had learned early on not to take these periods personally, it was mostly a case of boredom, and Sherlock's mind turning on itself; usually he would take himself off to a film or to the shops, today, it was lunch time, so he sighed at the half-completed puzzle, laying it aside, then pushed out of his chair and moved to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, not entirely sure what he would find in the fridge. Luckily, they had ordered Thai earlier in the week, so there were plenty of leftovers. They had eggs for once, and there was always a bag of peas in the freezer, mostly for those injuries that needed an ice pack, but it was a fresh bag, so John used those as well. In the end, it turned out to be a nice fried rice, the fragrant scent somehow made it over to the lump on the couch, who took a shuddering breath, and slowly got his feet and he moved into the kitchen to accept a bowl. 

He ate three bowls.

 

The first and only time Sherlock made it for John was in the early morning hours after the events at the pool; they hadn't spoken during the cab ride home, and Sherlock watched John carefully for any outward signs of distress from the corner of his eye, sighing internally as he saw John's left hand tighten into a fist ever so slightly; food, he thought to himself, he's hungry and I was supposed to see to the shopping... damn. Sherlock paid the cabbie and flew up the steps, allowing John to make his way upstairs; he knew that was a bit not good, but Sherlock didn't want John to know how afraid he'd been, how afraid he was that he had almost lost his first and only... friend? Were they friends? No. No time for that. Food... ah, right, Mrs. Hudson had made them a noodle casserole a couple of nights earlier before going off to her sister's house, reminding them once again that she 'wasn't their housekeeper.' He pulled out the dish and lifted the lid, sniffing it carefully for any contaminants before setting it on the counter. Sherlock could hear John make his way slowly up the steps, a hint of a limp evident, damn... and he searched the freezer for anything else that could make the meal less... grey. Peas. Peas somehow made things more edible, he thought, pausing for a moment, recalling the times John had made those meals when he was off somehow, the only thing he ever truly remembered was the peas. And the feeling of being cared for. John did care in his way, Sherlock realized suddenly. He turned to see John standing there in the kitchen, he hadn't taken off his coat, he was just there, watching him thinking about peas.

"Uhm, I'm just reheating some of the casserole? I'm going to cook some peas to go along with it, if that's okay?"

John nodded and went into the lounge and sat on the couch in the dark for a moment before finding the remote and turning on the telly. He flipped through all the early morning crap, settling on the white noise of one of the stations that had gone off for the night. Sherlock personally agreed it was the best choice, but remained silent. Tea. John could use some tea. Milk, Mrs. Hudson always had milk.

"Be right back, just need to get something from Mrs. Hudson's flat."

"Uhmhmm."

Sherlock bolted down the stairs, and used the key she left for him while she was away in case of emergency to open the door to her flat. He opened the fridge to find a new pint of milk with a note for him:

"Just in case you forget." Love, Mrs. H.

How well she knew him, no one knew him better except for John. John. Damn. He flew back up the stairs and knelt next to the couch; John had laid down, as if asleep, but his eyes were wide open, seeing something Sherlock couldn't see.

"John?" Sherlock whispered.

John blinked at him and nodded. "There you are." He reached out and touched Sherlock's face gently. "You're safe."

"Yeah, I'm safe, John. Food is almost ready, and I just need to turn on the kettle for tea, yeah?"

"Thanks."

"What for?" Sherlock's voice trembled slightly and he closed his eyes, trying not to let John see too much.

"For being there, with me."

"But, I was the reason you were there in the first place. I almost got you killed."

John sat up carefully and shook his head. "No, Moriarty almost killed us both, you got me home, Sherlock, you got me back home."

Sherlock nodded and bit his lip, then stood up, "tea and food, then bed, yeah?"

"I'm going to take a quick shower, I smell like the pool." John tried to smile, but it fell short, and Sherlock watched as he limped slowly to the loo.

"I'm afraid it's not nearly as good as yours," Sherlock mumbled as John took his seat on the couch next to him ten minutes later.

John looked at him, puzzled, "my what?"

"Your thing, the thing you do with peas." 

"My thing with -" John stopped then nodded as he took a bite, understanding what Sherlock meant. "No, this is exactly what I needed, Sherlock. Thank you."

 

After the Fall, John didn't make anything with peas, he didn't even buy peas when he went to the shops, while he had been away from Baker Street and during the short period of his marriage. Mary never said a word about it. He didn't buy peas again until the night when it was his turn to make Sherlock dinner and make sure he took his evening meds before going to bed after the Culverton Smith case. It wasn't intentional, or perhaps it was, he just picked up a bag mindlessly and threw it in his basket. He bought rice and white wine and a nice cheese to make a risotto, Sherlock could eat that, it would be soft enough, and not hard on his stomach, damn. He paused, trying not to think too much about things as he stared at the rows of chocolate biscuits and he suddenly understood Sherlock's allergy to shopping, too much, there was just too much of everything...

"Thank you, John, you didn't have to go to the trouble -" Sherlock began as he stared into his bowl, when he noticed the peas. "Peas, you made me -"

"Yeah, I - " John raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's and he tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

Sherlock reached over and laid his hand over John's briefly, then pulled away gently, and began to eat. "Best one, this is the best one yet, John." He laid his spoon down and smiled softly at him as he showed John the emptied bowl and got up from the table gingerly, "I'm just going to go to bed, there's a couple of new spy novels by your chair, for some reason Molly thought they might entertain me for a while, have at them."

John nodded and stood as Sherlock seemed like he wanted to say more, but was unsure. John had rarely seen him at a loss as to what to do or say. "Night, then, let me know if you need anything, yeah?"

"It's enough that you are here, that you - hmm. Night, John." 

 

"What are you cooking, Papa?" Rosie poked her head into the kitchen, with an eight year old's curiosity, as her father rarely cooked, mostly he or Sherlock just heated things up, or made toast and eggs, when they didn't have take away, but he was actually assembling something resembling food.

"Your da is a bit under the weather today, so I'm making him a, well, we call it, or he calls it, the 'thing with peas.' It doesn't really matter what you put with the peas, it's more the idea, the thought behind it, if that makes sense?" John finished mashing the potatoes and was layering them over the lamb in the dish, then he put it in the oven, before looking at their daughter. 

"Comfort food. Like how I like Mrs. H's chicken soup when I'm getting over a cold? I know it's not quite the same each time she makes it, but it's still her soup that makes me feel better. She makes it for me because she loves me."

"Right, that's exactly right, Rosie," John grinned at Rosie and once again he marveled at her ability to accept the idea that she was loved and needed, something John and Sherlock had struggled with for so long. He kissed her on the head as Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen, his sleeplessness evident in the circles under his eyes. He nodded at them, then lifted the lid on the pot on the stove and breathed in the steam.

"Peas." Sherlock turned and looked at John and Rosie who were both watching him carefully.

"Uhmhmm."

Sherlock took a deep breath in and murmured, "shepherd's pie. And peas."

"It will be ready in a few minutes, if you wanted to get a shower."

Sherlock nodded, then kissed Rosie on the cheek and left the room. He returned thirty minutes later, fully dressed, hair still damp, but tamed somewhat, and his eyes had regained a bit of their normal sparkle. Rosie was setting the table, and John was pouring drinks. The food was already dished up on plates and Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the domesticity of it all, even after seven years, it could still astonish him. He took the glasses from John and put them on the table, then took him into his arms and kissed him gently.

"Da...." Rosie rolled her eyes, though in truth, she loved to see that her parents truly cared for one another, not everyone was as lucky as she was to grow up with two people who honestly -

"Da!" Rosie yelped as Sherlock wrapped her into a bear hug, catching her off guard. He kissed her hair, then sat down next to her at the table.

"Learn anything at school today?" Sherlock asked, before beginning to eat.

"Nothing I didn't already know," she sighed into her glass.

"You didn't correct your teacher again, Ro?" He grinned at her, and took a bite, then looked at John, who was busy not watching his detective.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock whispered gently before taking John's hand in his and threading their fingers together.

"No, of course not, I just wrote him a note and slipped it into his box, didn't want to embarrass him again in front of the class." She mumbled between bites.

Sherlock laughed out loud and John and Rosie exchanged a smile of understanding.

"Your papa has told you about peas then?" Sherlock asked Rosie quietly after dinner as he was tucking her in.

"A bit. Like Mrs. H's soup?"

"Yeah. Back before you were born, your papa and I weren't always good at talking about feelings, we're still not great at it, but back then -" He paused as he saw John standing at the doorway. "We didn't have words for it, so we had to find other ways -"

"Like peas." Rosie yawned.

"He didn't even know it at first, until the time I made it for him after a rough day. I didn't have a way to tell him I was sorry and that I cared about him, but then he saw the peas and understood."

"Papa can be a little slow sometimes," Rosie muttered as she fell asleep. Sherlock kissed her gently, then looked up at John and grinned. 

John sighed and rolled his eyes then whispered, "I love you, too."

Sherlock stopped grinning and walked over to his blogger and wrapped him in his arms. "I know, John, I do know, love."


End file.
